Still On The Run
by scoutfinches
Summary: A set of post-program journals from Shuya. Written for my creative writing class. (Enjoy?)
1. Chapter 1

9/16/1998

New York, NY

Age 16

I still have no idea what to think of this. I never really have. Not lately. What's school anyway?

I haven been to 'school' in a long, long time. And really, I think I'm in the wrong position. I used to think I was going places.. Doing things. But now I'm stuck here

in this school.. In this dirty classroom in this city which is probably just as dirty. I miss my friends. I miss everything.

I'm sitting in my match class. Apparently, the lower level math class. And I'm sitting here, at my desk, covered in curses, trying hard to pretend I'm writing notes.

Teachers frighten me. I remember very clearly when my last teacher (before New York) broke a ruler in half. And held a remote in his hands. And I miss my

friends. One of which, was at one time, sitting in a desk like this, far from home. Held backwards. Just. Like. Me


	2. Chapter 2

9/22/1998

New York, NY

Age 16

I decided not to confront my fear and hatred of school. Not for a while. Not until my girlfriend told me she felt the same way. "I can't look teachers in 

the eye anymore." She said. "Not after what happened." I remembered more and more about my friend each day. And how he was stuck with us

freshmen (as I suppose I'm supposed to call our former selves) when he was too old to be. We would always wonder why he was there with us. He

was just too strange. And until that point in my life was sure as done, I never even said a word to him. Maybe hello once. In the hallway. But what

would I know? All I know of him was what I learned outside. And I thought maybe that's what these other students wondered about us. "I feel too

much melancholy." She told me, as she held my hand in front of the schoolyard. "Those girls won't speak to me because I feel too much melancholy." I

figured that she was right.


	3. Chapter 3

9/30/1998

New York, NY

Age 16

Melancholy was just the word for it. At least that's what our English teacher told us. She also told us she never once, ever in her career, had two

honors students who also happened to be held back. She said that it had to connect the circumstances of us being held back. By it, I mean as I had

in my last entry. Melancholy. I tried to talk to some boys who played on the baseball team. Before I moved here, that's what I liked to do. I tried.

Really. My girlfriend wanted to see me make some friends. I used to be popular at my old school. I never had a desire to be. And girls followed me

around constantly. I like my privacy, and there, I never got it. And maybe my popularity is a reason for our bad luck. And when the boys just pushed

me over, I realized why our friend was so lonely. Because truthfully, in high school, nobody associates with hold backs. They hold you back as well.


	4. Chapter 4

10/5/1998

New York, NY

Age 16

I hoped maybe I'd do better in my math class I've been failing. But in English, I found a character that reminded me of my friend. And I saw a new

classmate that reminded me of another. My classmate was small and skinny. He said he moved here from Albany. And he said he had a hard time

making friends. Lately, I think things are the same way. Our teacher was happy that we finally had a final member in our reading group. Nobody else

chose to join us. Not a single student. Even the intern declined making the group.. Feasible. So, this kid comes and sits at our group and we pick up

where we left off. The trial. He laughed when it was his turn. It was a stupid time, he said, to move to a new school. I told him I made a terrible

decision and waited a year. But the truth was that I hadn't made that decision on my own. The government did. And I had no way to oppose. He told

me how great of a character Atticus, the lawyer was. Because he did exactly what was right. And nothing more than that. Almost just like my friend.


	5. Chapter 5

10/22/1998

New York, NY

Age 16

Well, it's been a long time since I've even picked up my notebook. I found it in the gym locker room on the floor this morning. Turns out, another

student stole it to read it. And tried to exploit me, as my girlfriend told me our peers liked to. He found nothing interesting and left it on the floor in

front of my gym locker. Touché. We've been reading a lot more of our book in English. Our reading group finished the whole thing already. And I was

pretty satisfied with the outcome. The rest of the class today was just beginning the very end. According to our teacher, it was Halloween and she

wore the ham costume. My girlfriend tried to pull off a pair of overalls and gave me nice clothes and a pocket watch. It was almost perfect, except

apparently, my new belt (which the orphanage superintendent _just_ gave me yesterday) was what I had to exchange to get my notebook back. Again,

touché. Our friend from Albany, now known as Shane, went up to be the volunteer reader. He began to act out the parts of the story. And as the

reclusive neighbor saved the day, I began to cry as I hadn't the time before. Because I wish I would have saved the day too.


	6. Chapter 6

10/29/1998

New York, NY

Age 16

"I pick the petals and I look away, only to see again, the sky is gray." As always, my girlfriend wrote the best composition in English class. We had a

small poetry contest yesterday. Which made me realize some things never change. In the end, through an anonymous vote, she won the contest.

After that was said and done (by the mostly sarcastic clapping and unhappy stares of our younger classmates), we started on our next story. The 

Lord of The Flies.  I saw this in my syllabus and was never really looking forward to it. I don't need reminders. I need answers, and a stupid book

won't give me any. Our reading group was especially hard today. I kept thinking of my best friend from the orphanage. And maybe that's because

Shane read the first ten pages on his own. After the bell rang, I asked my girlfriend if we could take some time to talk. Out of class, before lunch. So,

we ended up in the (now freezing cold) schoolyard instead of Chemistry class. "I know that reading that book was hard for you. It was hard for me

too. It brings back too many memories... Listen, maybe we should just tell them. We can't keep it in any longer. It's been too long since we've said

anything." I knew I agreed with her, but there was no way we could just.. Let the secret out like that. I thought it was absurd. The whole idea just

seemed.. Wrong. "Maybe." I answered. Then, we sat together in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

11/5/1998

New York, NY

Age 17

Today's my birthday. And I used to love birthdays. Every year, the other kids in the orphanage at home would make me a cake. When they had a

birthday, I'd do the same for them. It gave me something to look forward to. All happiness associated with birthdays is just about gone. Here, they're

much more glorified. And I was shocked to see how different things were this time around. My girlfriend put a sign on my locker, like I saw the other

students had before. Our English teacher made the class sing for me (despite the once mutual disagreement) and my Geometry teacher gave me a

free pass from my homework. Shockingly (Which proves my point, because that man has hated me with a deep passion all year long). And I think I

got that happiness I lost back. But it's been a long time since I've felt this way. It contrasts what happened last year at home. Almost completely.

Instead of thinking of being alive, I wondered if I'd live another day. My best friend died on the first day, and my righteous one died on the last. And I

could never forget how confined we were. And how hopeless we were. I know you think I'm some normal kid in some normal school in New York with

a normal life. But I'm not. I haven't lived in the city, or this country, my whole life. My family didn't escape by boat. I did. We were in a death match,

The Program, and we survived. And I never want to go back again.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: This is a third person story behind finding out the secret of Shuya and Noriko's past. Which was part of the prompt from my teacher.. Well, the secret and journals were in their entirety.. But.. Whatever. Love, Scout.

Another November day whizzed by and everything was just about back to normal.

The day ended on a high note. It was shockingly warm and bright outside.

This deemed to be a special day for Shuya (our narrator), Noriko (his girlfriend and fellow Program survivor), and Shane. They had just packed

their backpacks and decided to talk around the suburb. And go get something to eat at the Starbucks down the street.

Shuya was a bit gullible at times. He was smart, yes, but sometimes, he was forgetful. And a bit optimistic. Still, even after everything happened.

That being said, he forgot to zip shit his backpack as he and his friends walked down the hall. And out of the backpack fell his notebook, which

doubled as his journal.

Behind them was their English teacher. She quickly rushed to pick up the notebook, one she saw Shuya writing in quite often.

She tried to run after him and the rest of the group, the reading group from class.

"Shuya!" In a last ditch effort. She called out his name. Finally, he turned his head.

"Mrs. McKanna? What is it? I turned in my essay already!"

Then, he figured it out on his own. She caught a glimpse of the last page of his notebook. And being the kind of teacher she was, she kept on

reading.  
"Your notebook... Your journal." She caught just information to know what had happened to them. The two of them.

They met there.. They went through that.. I can finally understand.

She gave them those eyes the adults in America always had. Those deep, wide, sympathetic eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Shuya. I better give you this back. I have to be home soon. I'll see you all in class tomorrow, okay?"

He was used to this reaction. Being reminded of the memories at the moment made both Shuya and Noriko's hearts sink. Despite that, he kept

his composure.

"It's fine. Thank you, Mrs. McKanna. I'll see you tomorrow also." He quickly, though not genuinely, flashed his signature smile. That smile made

not only Noriko fall in love with him, but the ten other girls in his class. And soon, he hoped, the rest of America.

The others gave her a quick wave before continuing out the door.

After the left the school and were out of sight from the bullies, the seniors, and in general, the rest of the school, Shane asked exactly what it

was that set him off about the notebook.

"It's a long story, Shane." He answered, they walked under the falling leaves. "I think my bag's still open. Just take the journal and read it. I

trust you. You're my friend, Shane. Someone already read it. It doesn't matter anymore."

Shane did just that, and afterwards, zipped his friend's backpack shut.

When the walk was over, they sat down and got some drinks. Shane began to fully focus on the notebook.

"Oh my God..." He stares at his only friends in awe and shock. "You? There?"

"Uh huh." Noriko nodded her head.

"You lived? Together?"

"Yes. We did." She replied again.

"And you're here, now?"

"Yes, Shane!" She laughed.

"And... What was I going to say?"

"I don't know, Shane. Ask Shuya."

Shane looked at his other friend and wondered, "How did you end up here?"

"Well, Shane, we were born to run."

_ * 2 Students Remaining *_


End file.
